


Friendly Fire

by Pony Girl (Jackjunkie)



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:43:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackjunkie/pseuds/Pony%20Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heyes must deal with his guilt over shooting Curry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendly Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Just You, Me and the Governor #15

Hannibal Heyes gazed down the muzzle of the gun leveled at his heart and reflected that this was not a good way to start the day.

The saving grace was that his own pistol was pointed right back at the gun-wielding stranger. At least he was not at a total disadvantage; the stand-off gave him much better odds. They’d be better still if it was Kid Curry’s gun that was aimed at the intruder rather than his own, and a sure bet if the Kid was doing the aiming.

Unfortunately his partner did not seem to be anywhere in sight. They had been preparing to leave their overnight camp when Curry had gone off to answer a call of nature. He had not yet returned when the interloper made his unwelcome appearance.

Heyes was on his knees rolling up his blanket when he heard the newcomer approach. He turned slowly to meet him, his gun already in his hand. Evaluating brown eyes took in the cracked, dirt-caked boots before moving up the equally seedy clothing, past the ample middle to the unfriendly face above. Eyes of pale gray, their whites shot through with red, squinted back at him. They were unfamiliar eyes in an unfamiliar face. Heyes didn’t recognize the man - another point in their favor, added to the fact that he hadn’t been taken entirely by surprise. On the other hand, Heyes noted that the man did have hold of their horses, along with a third that was undoubtedly his own mount.

“Well looky here,” the stranger said in a smug tone. “I thought all I was gonna get outta this was a coupla horses and some pocket change, and here I’ve got Hannibal Heyes hisself. Ten thou-ou-sand dollars.” An oily smile put Heyes in mind of nothing so much as a snake. “That were the amount of the reward, weren’t it?”

It was a pity that the nonrecognition didn’t go both ways, but Heyes didn’t let that discourage him. He tried an ingratiating smile. “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake, mister. I may resemble this outlaw... Heyes, was it? But the name’s Smith, Joshua Smith.”

“Nice try, but I know who you are,” the man said confidently. “I was in Rattler’s Gulch when you come through oncet with the Devil’s Hole Gang.”

Heyes’ hopes plummeted. If this fellow had seen him riding with the boys, there was no chance of pulling this off as a mistaken identity gambit. He’d have to try another tack.

Slowly sitting back on his heels, the picture of easy relaxation, he gave a careless shrug. “If you know who I am, then you know Kid Curry’s not far away. I suggest you lower that gun unless you want a bullet from his borin’ a nice, big hole through your middle.”

The big man only grinned wider. “You might be right. That’d make the reward twenty thousand. I’d best deal with you one at a time. I kin take care o’ you first, afore killin’ him. Them wanted posters do say _Dead or Alive_.” Lifting his gun higher, he prepared to pull the trigger.

Heyes’ own gun didn’t waver. “What good’s it gonna do you if we kill each other?” he asked reasonably.

“I’ll take my chances,” was the indifferent response. “That amount o’ money’s worth riskin’ a bullet.” His eyes narrowed and his finger twitched.

Abruptly Heyes let out a piercing whistle. Startled, the three horses moved nervously back. The man turned towards them and pulled more tightly on the reins in his left hand.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Heyes fired.

At the same moment, one of the frightened animals reared, yanking the man out of the path of the bullet as it shot past him.

Hearing a grunt, Heyes looked beyond the man now regaining his balance. His eyes widened in horror as he saw his partner standing where he’d been hidden behind the stranger and the horses. He noted the red stain spreading over Curry’s pants leg and the look of astonishment in the pain-filled blue eyes.

The stranger turned to follow Heyes’ look. Laughing, he turned back to Heyes and again raised his gun.

A look of surprise replaced the satisfaction in the bloodshot eyes as the Kid’s bullet impacted. The man swayed in place for just a moment before falling lifeless to the ground. The reins slipped from his now slack grasp and the horses fled in terror.

Heyes remained frozen as he watched the Kid slowly drop the gun he’d just fired to save his friend’s life.

Curry looked wonderingly down at his leg and then crumpled to the ground as well.

His partner’s movements suddenly bringing him back to motion, Heyes dropped his own weapon and rushed to Curry’s side. “Kid! Kid!”

A hiss of breath through clenched teeth was the only answer to his frantic calls. Curry’s hands clutched at his left leg, whether in an attempt to stem the pain or the blood, Heyes wasn’t sure.

“Easy, Kid, easy,” he murmured as he placed his own hand over the other man’s to quiet them. “Let me have a look.”

As gently as he could, he pulled the sticky cloth away from the Kid’s flesh and ripped a larger tear in it so he could see the condition of the wound. His tentative probing produced a flinch and a sharp intake of breath. He pulled back, cursing inwardly that he’d hurt the Kid yet again.

“It’s gotta come out.” Curry’s hard words were not a question.

“Yeah,” Heyes agreed. He looked around. “The horses are gone, Kid. I don’t think they’re gonna come back. We’re a long walk from a doctor.”

“You’ll hafta dig it out yourself then.” Curry bit off the words as a spasm of pain wracked his leg.

“Don’t know as that’s such a good idea,” Heyes answered hesitantly.

Curry shot him a curious look. “This ain’t the first bullet you’ve dug out of a body,” he pointed out.

_It’s the first one I’ve had to dig out that I put there myself._ Heyes’ mind skittered away from that thought.

“Heyes, you ain’t gonna make me get this outta myself?”

It was Heyes’ turn to flinch as he looked away from the confusion in those azure eyes. He couldn’t face the accusation he was sure lurked in them. “Right then,” was all he said. “Hang on.”

Pulling off his bandanna, he stanched the blood as best he could. At least the flow was already slowing to a sluggish trickle. Then he got up to collect what he needed for the job ahead.

Most of their supplies were gone with the horses, but he hadn’t finished packing up their breakfast things yet. He rummaged around, pushing aside a frying pan, a couple of battered tin cups & plates, some flatware until he found the object he was looking for... a knife.

Coldly, he rifled the dead man’s pockets to salvage what he could. Finding a flask, he opened the cap and was met with a whiff of alcohol. Carrying it to his wounded partner, he poured some over the knife and leg, wincing sympathetically as the stinging liquid elicited a stifled yelp, then gave the remainder to the Kid to finish off.

Curry swallowed a slug, choking and sputtering as it went down. “Rotgut!” he gasped.

“Long as it’s alcohol, it’ll do the trick,” Heyes muttered.

Giving the whiskey a few minutes to take effect, he rebuilt the campfire that they’d put out earlier. That task done, he returned to face his cousin, wordlessly handing him a stick to bite down on.

He tried to focus on what he had to do without actually thinking about it too much. If he did that, it wouldn’t be good for either the Kid or himself. Best to just do what had to be done.

Gritting his teeth, he sliced into the Kid’s leg.

With a reflexive kick and a yell, Curry passed out.

Heyes was thankful for that. It wouldn’t be quite so hard this way, at least on the Kid. It was still going to be hard enough on Heyes.

He inserted the knife into the wound, following the track of the bullet and trying to do as little additional damage as possible.

At least it had gone into the fleshy part of the thigh. He wouldn’t have any broken bones to deal with. Wiping away more blood, he peered into the incision and spotted the small piece of metal that had caused the damage. Very carefully he extracted it and laid it on the ground.

Heyes turned to the campfire and held the knife in the flames. He watched as they licked at it, heating the metal with their intense energy. Staring into the blinding brightness, he wished they could burn away his thoughts and feelings about what he’d done. Blinking suddenly, he withdrew the knife and moved back to the Kid.

He paused, holding the hot blade over the leg as he looked at his partner’s face, pale and pinched with pain even in his unconscious state. Returning his gaze to the leg, he lowered the knife and proceeded to cauterize the wound. The stench of searing flesh and hair burned his nostrils. He coughed once and laid down the knife.

Removing Curry’s bandanna, Heyes walked over to the nearby stream and gave it a good soaking. He returned and did the best he could to clean the wound. Cutting away parts of the blood-soaked pants, he used his undershirt to bandage the leg.

His mind beginning to feel numb from fatigue, he considered their next course of action. The horses were gone, and they were two days’ walk from the nearest town. The Kid was obviously not going to be doing any walking for a long time. He dismissed the thought of leaving Curry while he went for help as soon as it occurred to him. Wounded and helpless, the Kid would be easy prey for any predator, animal or human, that happened by. Heyes would get him safely to a doctor if he had to carry him all the way.

That wasn’t the most practical method of transportation, however, and perhaps it wouldn’t be necessary. Pulling at some likely branches, Heyes set about fashioning a makeshift travois. He hacked at the corners of his blanket and fastened the edges to the wood. The result wasn’t fancy, but it was serviceable.

With the utmost gentleness, he eased the Kid onto the blanket. He retrieved his cousin’s six-gun and nestled it securely back into its holster. His eyes caught sight of the spent bullet, still lying in the dirt where he’d left it. For some reason, he reached down for it, rolling it between his fingers before tucking it away into a pocket.

He moved around the campsite, carefully putting out the fire and gathering up a few items to take along. Heyes left the dead man where he lay without a second glance. He didn’t have time to worry about burying the dead. He had enough to worry about caring for the living.

The last thing he picked up was his gun, which was also still lying in the dirt where he’d dropped it. He turned it over in his hand, fitting his palm around the handle and his finger at the trigger. Taking careful aim at a tree, he emptied the gun into the trunk, firing shot after shot until he clicked on an empty chamber. Lowering his arm, he stared at the tree, face and mind a careful blank. He turned away and reholstered the empty gun.

Picking up the travois’ poles, he set off without a backward glance, dragging Curry behind him.

*****

Heyes walked, alternating between thinking and trying not to think. He’d been able to push his thoughts aside while he focused on doing what was necessary to save the Kid, but now there was nothing to do but walk, and that left plenty of time and room for thinking. Curry was still unconscious, so Heyes didn’t even have the distraction of someone to talk to. Unwelcome thoughts crowded in, demanding his attention, permitting him no escape.

He had shot the Kid. He had shot the Kid! HE HAD SHOT THE KID! The refrain screamed in his mind, over and over.

“Okay! I know! I shot him!” he shouted, then laughed bitterly at himself for raging at the empty air.

Rage. That was a good word for what he was feeling. Oh remorse, guilt, he felt those too... but overriding all was the anger. He just couldn’t quite figure out who he was angry at. The dead stranger whose name he didn’t even know for causing the shooting? Life for dealing them yet another in a series of unlucky blows? Or even... His mind balked, but he forced himself to consider the idea. Could he be angry at the Kid for getting hurt? It made about as much sense as shooting that tree full of lead.

The strange thing was he didn’t truly blame any of those for what had happened so how could he be angry with them? Just another drifter trying to collect on their reward or the chance workings of fate or the Kid being there to back him up like always - they were a part of it, but they hadn’t really caused it, and he couldn’t blame them. He was the one to blame. It was himself he was angry at.

He knew the shooting was an accident. That wasn’t even what he blamed himself for exactly. What he blamed himself for was allowing the incident to get to that point at all.

He was the great Hannibal Heyes after all. What had happened to his silver tongue? He should have been able to plan or talk his way out of the situation without resorting to his gun. He should have stuck to his area of expertise and left the gunplay to the Kid. If he had, Curry wouldn’t be lying there now, injured because of him.

His cousin was alive, it was true, but far from out of danger. Until they reached a doctor, Heyes had no reassurance that Curry would come out of this without a limp, or worse, without losing his leg - or even come out of this at all. And whatever happened, it was all Heyes’ fault. It was his failure.

Well, at least now he knew who to rage at. He shifted the travois and pressed on.

*****

During the night, the Kid grew feverish, mumbling deliriously and tossing restlessly back and forth.

Heyes tried to keep him covered and warm. He knew this was not a good sign. The wound must be getting infected despite the alcohol sterilization. He had to get Curry to a doctor.

There wasn’t much he could do until morning. It was too unsafe to attempt to travel in the dark. He slept fitfully, knowing the best thing he could do for his friend was to get some rest so he’d be fit to continue the next day, but he finally gave it up as a lost cause.

He spent the remainder of the night talking. The words seemed to come easier in the dark and the sound of his voice seemed to calm the Kid a bit even if he wasn’t in a condition to understand what was said. The bitter lashing at himself and his failure was intended more for his own ears anyway although he felt sure Curry would agree with every word. He certainly had a right to.

At first light Heyes resumed their trek. His thoughts weren’t as invasive today since he found it required much of his concentration just to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Somehow he managed to trudge on.

It was late afternoon when they finally reached a town. Dropping the stretcher poles in front of the clapboard building with the doctor’s shingle, Heyes lifted his hat and swiped an arm across his forehead in relief that the long journey was at an end. His tired muscles straining under the weight, he lifted the Kid into his arms and carried him up the stairs. He waited wearily for an answer to his knock.

The doctor himself opened the door. Grateful that he wasn’t away on a call, Heyes turned the patient over to him gladly. The Kid would get the proper care now.

After laying his partner on a bed in the surgery, Heyes left the doctor to his work. Exiting the house, he paused on the porch and looked up the street. Spying a couple likely looking establishments, he headed that way and entered the first saloon he encountered. Striding purposefully toward the bar, he ordered whiskey. At last he let go of the iron control that had kept him going and proceeded to do a thorough job of getting blind, roaring drunk.

*****

Heyes groaned as the light washed painfully over his closed eyelids. If it was this bad now, he didn’t want to consider actually opening his eyes. He groaned again as pain spiked through his head.

_Who hit me?_ he wondered as he decided he’d better take a look after all and assess the situation.

Beginning with a small slit, he gradually lifted his lids until he adjusted to the point where the light was at least tolerable. He appeared to be lying on a sofa with lumpy but not uncomfortable cushions in an otherwise unoccupied room. Moving cautiously so as not to aggravate his headache too much, he slowly sat up and looked around. The room seemed vaguely familiar. He puzzled over it.

“Ah, awake I see,” said a cheery voice that rang through his head like a blacksmith’s hammer. “Thought I heard something. I imagine you could do with a cup of coffee.”

The strong aroma already seemed to be helping him to collect his thoughts. He reached for the cup with a word of thanks to the doctor holding it out to him. That’s right - the doctor. He was in the doctor’s sitting room. This was where he had brought the Kid. It was coming back to him now. Most of the past evening and night were still something of a haze, however. He took a sip of the hot brew.

“Looks like I have to thank you for your hospitality as well.” He indicated the sofa.

The doctor waved away his thanks. “Oh, this room has accommodated many an anxious friend or relative. I thought you’d find it more comfortable than the jail.”

Heyes somehow managed to swallow the mouthful of coffee without choking on it. “Jail?” he asked warily. Had they been recognized? Or had the Kid’s feverish ramblings given them away?

“Yes. I’m not surprised you don’t remember all of last night’s events,” the doctor observed clinically. “You tied one on pretty thoroughly from what I understand. Rather than kick you out into the street, the barkeep at the saloon fetched the deputy to take you over to the jail to sleep it off since you didn’t seem to have anyplace else to go. One of the other customers told him you’d mentioned bringing your hurt friend here, so Frank stopped here on the way to check with me first. I told him you could spend the night here.”

“I’m obliged - to you and to Frank,” Heyes admitted. He took another sip of the coffee. “How is Thaddeus?” he asked tentatively, trying to prepare himself for an answer he might not want to hear.

“Mr. Jones is doing fine,” the doctor said heartily. “The fever broke yesterday. It was a much milder one than it could have been without the alcohol that I understand was used. Excellent precaution. He had a good night’s sleep and he’s feeling much more himself this morning. As for the leg, he should heal quite well with nothing worse to show for it than a scar. In time he should be able to walk quite normally again, without any limp or other effect. That was a nice bit of surgery, young man. You have a certain amount of skill in those hands for that type of painstaking, delicate work.”

“Thanks, I...” The younger man floundered, unable to explain his background in manipulating safe tumblers. He fixed on the other part of what the doctor had said. “He’s really going to be all right?” Heyes asked wonderingly.

“Yes, yes. I can’t say he’s ready to dance a jig yet...”

“Thaddeus never was very fond of jigs,” Heyes interrupted reminiscently.

“Oh? Well, no matter. Why don’t you see for yourself?” the doctor laughed. “I think a visitor would do him good. Just keep it brief. He still needs rest.” His host stood to usher him out of the room.

“Oh, sure,” Heyes said, putting down his cup and rising to follow the doctor. He wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to see the Kid, or more properly, that the Kid would want to see him, but he didn’t feel comfortable voicing those reservations.

“By the way, I told Frank about the horse thief you had the run-in with. Mr. Jones told me what happened. The sheriff will send someone out to collect the body and they’ll keep an eye out for your horses, but I don’t know if you’ll get them back. It sounds like they could have run off anywhere.”

“Huh? Oh, that’s okay, Doc. It don’t matter.” He truly didn’t care what transpired with either the dead thief or the horses. All that mattered to him at the moment was the Kid. Taking a deep breath, he entered the sickroom.

Heyes paused on the threshold and regarded the patient lying in the bed. Curry’s eyes were closed; he appeared to be asleep. His face was still pale, but it had lost that pinched look he’d had on the trail. Heyes hoped that meant the doc had been able to relieve the pain.

The door closed softly behind him and the two were alone. Apparently Curry wasn’t sleeping after all, because the sound caused him to open his eyes and turn them expectantly towards the door. Like a ray of sunlight across a blue sky, they lit up at the sight of his partner standing there. “Heyes,” he greeted him with a smile, “come on in.”

With an effort, Heyes returned the smile, though it didn’t dispel the stricken look in his eyes. “How you doin’, Kid?” He walked over and sat in the chair at the bedside.

“Doc says I’ll be right as rain in no time.” Perceptive blue eyes examined his friend’s disheveled appearance. “How’re you doin’, Heyes? You ain’t had an easy time of it neither.”

“Me? After what I done, you’re askin’ about me?”

“What you done?” Curry looked sincerely puzzled. “‘Pears to me what you done was save my life.”

“Was my fault it needed saving in the first place.” Heyes could not keep meeting those trust-filled eyes. He looked away, down, then out the window, while he waited for his friend’s response.

Curry took his time to think it over. Finally he pronounced his conclusion. “It was an accident, Heyes. Weren’t your fault.”

Tormented dark eyes jerked back to search the waiting light ones. All Heyes saw there was compassion and concern. Didn’t Curry understand? “An accident that shouldn’ta happened. Kid, I shot you! I shoulda been able to stop it before it came to shooting. I shoulda thought it out better.”

“So that’s it,” Curry said softly. He frowned. “Heyes, you ain’t the leader of the Devil’s Hole Gang no more, you ain’t plannin’ jobs no more, an’ you ain’t responsible for ever’ blessed thing that happens to us! This here’s a partnership and we share everything equally, remember? Far as that goes, I shoulda ducked the minute I saw a gun in your hand. I know how you shoot.”

Heyes smiled faintly at his partner’s attempt at a joke, but said, “Kid, it ain’t that simple.”

“Yeah, Heyes, it is exactly that simple.”

Heyes sighed. “For you maybe. Not for me.”

It was Curry’s turn to sigh. “I know. You let things eat at you. You gotta stop second-guessing yourself. Make peace with what happened and move on. I have.”

Heyes met that steady regard and knew it was true. Despite his reputation, Kid Curry hadn’t killed very often and took it hard when he did. When it came down, though, to a question of their lives or that of the horse thief threatening them, he hadn’t hesitated, notwithstanding the heavy cost that choice carried. Heyes could see he’d already come to terms with that and begun to put it behind him. The older man couldn’t fault him for that and only wished he could be more like his younger cousin in this respect. It would have made the last 48 hours a whole lot easier to live through.

He responded to Curry’s advice thoughtfully. “I think that’s what I’ve been trying to do with this whole amnesty thing, but it’s hard sometimes... especially when someone I care about gets hurt.” They didn’t talk about their feelings for each other very often. They didn’t have to. Right now, though, Heyes felt the need to put some of it into words. “You always were more at peace than I was. I know I’ve laughed when you’ve called yourself peaceable, but you’re right.” He grinned to lighten the heavy mood he’d brought on. “I may not tell you this often, but you are right some of the time, you know.” He clasped his friend’s shoulder briefly to reinforce that he meant what he said.

Curry’s pleasure at the statement shone from his eyes. “I’ll remember that the next time you’re sayin’ the contrary. You remember that even Hannibal Heyes makes mistakes. Just ‘cause you’re a genius, don’t mean you ain’t human like the rest of us.”

If the Kid had forgiven his failure, how could he do less himself? After all, Curry was the injured party here. His cousin had given him a few things to think over, things that just might counterbalance the thoughts that had been battering at his mind the last two days. Maybe he wouldn’t have taken such a beating if he’d been able to talk it out with the Kid right from the start. They did seem to have a knack for balancing each other, which was undoubtedly part of what made them such good partners. He began to feel hopeful that he’d work it out to gain some measure of peace again.

“Hm, speaking of remembering...” Heyes reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small bit of metal, which he held up for them both to see.

“That the bullet you dug out of me?” At Heyes’ nod, Curry asked curiously, “Why’d you hang onto that?”

“Oh, thought I might need a reminder to handle things differently next time,” he said.

“You ain’t gonna make a habit outta shootin’ me, are ya?”

This time the smile was genuine, touching the cinnamon eyes with its warmth. “Wasn’t planning on it, no.”

“Then some things are better put behind ya, without no reminders,” the Kid suggested gently.

Heyes glanced at the bullet, then tossed it dismissively onto a table. “Right twice in one day, Kid. Keep this up and you might even catch up to my genius... in, say, about 10 or 20 years. Kid, what’re you doing with that pillow? Wait, you’re the peaceable one, remember?”

THE END


End file.
